The servant looked back and forth between us, then hurried off. If I hadn’t so recently discovered what it felt like for flesh to burn, I would have sworn my entire body was aflame.
“Let’s go,” Bjorn said, “before you fill my virtuous mind with any more talk of slick thighs and hard nipples.”
“I said nothing about nipples, you drunk idiot,” I hissed, picking up the two shields I’d secured and scampering after him.
Bjorn threw up his hands. “You see, Freya? Already you are influencing me, and I’ve only been in your company a matter of minutes. What sordid things will my tongue come up with after an hour with you? A day? A year? You will be the ruin of my virtue.”
“The only thing that you need worry about is me cutting out your tongue if you don’t shut up,” I snapped, then stomped ahead of him down to the water, not caring that mud splattered my new trousers or that my shirt was already damp with nervous sweat.
“From most people that would be an empty threat,” he answered, “but you’re a woman who keeps her word, so I will guard my tongue.”
I didn’t think that meant he’d any intention of keeping silent.
The dock would normally be busy with fishermen and merchants coming and going, but today it was silent as a grave, the people of Halsar instead engaged with rebuilding the homes that had been lost to fires set by Gnut’s men.
My feet made echoing thumps as I stomped to the far end, the fjord a glittering steel blue. Though the spring air was cool and the tips of the surrounding mountains were still covered with snow, the overhead sun was warm enough that I didn’t regret leaving my cloak at the great hall. In fact, it was warm enough to—
I turned around in time to see Bjorn dropping his shirt onto the dock, hard muscles and tattooed skin all in clear view. Setting the shields at my feet, I crossed my arms. “Worried about falling in?” I refused to say the word wet.
“No.” He hooked his thumbs over his belt, his trousers drifting low enough to reveal the sharp V of muscle that disappeared into them. The injury he’d taken last night was gone, presumably healed with Liv’s magic. Realizing I was staring at the tantalizing stretch of bare skin, I jerked my eyes to his face while gesturing at his discarded shirt.
He only shrugged. “I rarely wear a shirt when I fight.”
This time my eye roll was entirely unfeigned. “Is that part of your strategy, then? To distract the enemy with your rippling muscles so you might kill them while they gape at your splendor?”
“It is madness how well it works,” he agreed. “You’d think that when I run toward them, screaming battle cries and vows for blood, it would be the burning axe they commented on, but no. It’s always, ‘Look at that Bjorn’s ripping muscles. If I survive this battle, I vow to drink less mead so that my belly looks like his.’？”
I scowled, annoyed that he was getting the better of me. Again. “Why, then?”
“Because fabric burns.” He smirked. “So I either take it off before or risk having to rip it off in the middle of a fight.”
“Leather doesn’t burn,” I said flatly, knowing precisely what the warriors wore when they fought. “Neither does steel. So either you are vain or you are very stupid.”
Bjorn spread his arms wide. “Why not both?”
“Why not indeed,” I grumbled, bending to pick up a shield, gripping it tight. “Snorri has ordered you to teach me to fight in a shield wall. You may begin to do so now.”
“Yes, my lady of Halsar.” He cast his green eyes skyward. “In the shield wall, you must hold a shield.”
“Really?” I said. “That part I didn’t know.”
“You must hold a shield for a long time.” He bent low, his nose less than a handspan from my already-quivering arm, then met my gaze with raised eyebrows. “I suspect you can’t hold it for more than five minutes.”
He turned on his heel and retreated back up the dock a few paces before flopping down on his arse. Then he rolled up his shirt, using it as a cushion as he lay on his back and closed his eyes, seemingly intent on sunning himself while I stood here quivering and sweating.
Arrogant prick!
“Arm up, Freya,” he called, though there was no way he could see me. “You’re protecting your heart, not your knees.”
Arsehole! I lifted the shield higher, grinding my teeth as my arm protested the strain. But I’d do it. For however long I had to, I’d stand here. This might not be how I’d envisioned being trained as a warrior, but that didn’t mean I’d quit.